


(rat, soulmate, sexually abstinent) bastard

by brucewaynery



Series: iron man bingo fills [7]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Married Couple, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaynery/pseuds/brucewaynery
Summary: Now Steve, the rat bastard (it doesn’t matterwhyhis very wonderful husband is currently being considered a rat bastard, he just is. (No, Tony hasn’t forgotten, just temporarily misplaced. His brain is pretty big after all.)) is incredibly close to him, close enough that he can smell him. He once read somewhere that if you like how someone smells then you’re soulmates.OR, obligatory 'Steve takes a sleep-deprived Tony to bed' scene.for 'sharing a bed' on iron man bingo





	(rat, soulmate, sexually abstinent) bastard

Everything in Tony’s body hurts, every bone, joint and muscle he has, and probably some he doesn’t, his eyes are hardly focusing on the colourful lines of code barely a foot away from his face and every cell, every atom, every quark and gluon in him is screaming for rest, but the neurons in his brain tell him something different. He has to finish this. This… this… _whatever_, maybe he’s not 100% on what it is, but he’s finishing it. He is.

“Sure you are, baby.”

JARVIS didn’t have an american accent. Or called him ‘baby’ (_a_ baby, sure, but not _baby_). 

“No, I do not, Sir.” One day, Tony was going to program the sass out of JARVIS. Maybe that’s what he was working on.

“I do,” Not-JARVIS says. Tony turns around to find that the Not-JARVIS is Steve. Steve has an American accent. Because he is American. Captain American. America. They don’t call Tony a genius for nothing.

“We’re already married,” Tony says, because he’s fairly certain that ‘I do’ is something that you’re supposed to say when you get married, and Tony’s married. To Steve. And they definitely said ‘I do’.

“I’m glad you remember our wedding, sweetheart,” Steve says, and that bastard is _laughing_. At Tony, nonetheless. He should stop laughing.

Steve, the rat bastard, laughs again, “I’ll stop laughing if you can tell me what day it is, or the time.”

Tony must be saying his thoughts out loud. Or Steve, the rat bastard, is a mind-reader. Both seem equally as plausible. He resigns himself to the fact that he has absolutely no filter whatsoever now.

JARVIS, the robot rat bastard, doesn’t have the time or the date showing on any of the screens in the ‘shop and refuses to answer him. “JARVIS, you’re a robot rat bastard and I’m donating you to a pit-stop Denny’s,” Tony says, haughtily, glaring up at the ceiling.

“Honey, you know that JARVIS doesn’t live in the ceiling, right?” Steve says, teasing, (finally) walking towards him. Steve, the rat bastard, also meant hugs, because they were married, which meant that it was basically conjugal privilege, or spousal duty. One of the two.

“I know that,” Tony pouts, still slightly miffed that he hasn’t gotten his conjugal hug yet. He made JARVIS, he knows everything about him. (He’s decidedly ignoring the one section he wrote utterly shit-faced and never managed to find again. He’s sure it wasn’t important.)

Now Steve, the rat bastard (it doesn’t matter _why_ his very wonderful husband is currently being considered a rat bastard, he just is. (No, Tony hasn’t forgotten, just temporarily misplaced. His brain is pretty big after all.)) is incredibly close to him, close enough that he can smell him. He once read somewhere that if you like how someone smells then you’re soulmates. 

He knows for certain that Steve is his soulmate, because he loves his smell, it’s nice and comforting and warm and all he wants to do is hug him and Steve, the bastard soulmate (Tony’s decided to drop the ‘rat’ part in favour for ‘soulmate’. It seems more romantic.), _still_ hasn’t hugged him yet and any longer he’s going to start taking offence.

“Beloved, I think we established ourselves as ‘soulmates’ in our vows and my proposal, and that one time with Strange,” Steve, the bastard soulmate, says, smiling down at Tony. He reaches a hand out to brush through Tony’s hair. It feels nice, acceptable as a temporary replacement for a hug. He has nice hands and fingers, they’re very big. Which makes sense, Steve’s a big person.

“Come to bed, darling,” he says, wrapping his other arm around his shoulders and Tony lets himself be eased up. Tony expects him to put that an arm around his waist and walk up like that (another acceptable temporary replacement for a hug), but instead, Steve just lifts him up into a bridal carry, kissing his forehead when he makes weak protests. It’s nice being carried like this. Even if it makes him akin to a damsel in distress. If he’s going to be a princess, he’s going to be the prettiest princess the land’s ever seen.

“You already are, honey,” Steve says, smiling, and he probably was talking out loud again, but he can’t really bring himself to care when it means that Steve compliments him. He probably has a praise kink.

“You definitely do, sweetheart.” 

Maybe Tony cares a little about what he’s saying. Whatever. Steve married him, they’ve had sex at least once. A day. That’s enough to figure out any kinks right? This is Tony’s first, and hopefully only, marriage, he’s not too sure on the timeline. He never was that good at history anyway.

Before Tony notices, Steve’s letting go of him, and before he can whine (which would have been incredibly manly, thank you very much), he realises that it’s because they’re in bed. Well, he is. Steve’s undressing him.

“No sex, Tony, sleep,” Steve says, through laughter. Now Tony wants sex. With all of Steve’s… Steve-proportions, and lack of gag reflex, you can hardly blame him. Tony’s eyes are slipping shut even as he mumbles about Steve’s mouth. He valiantly tried to keep them open, catching fragments of what’s happening around him.

Steve, the sexually abstinent bastard, smiles, with what many would call a fond look on his face. Bucky, best man of the sexually abstinent bastard, prefers ‘whipped’.

“I feel like I should be concerned that you’re thinking of my best friend when we’re in bed,” Steve says from behind him (when did he get there?).

Tony doesn’t reply and his breathing evens out, finally asleep. Steve knows that Tony’s a genius, and how he gets and how hard he works, but he deserves, needs, rest every now and then. Even though he highly doubts that Tony’s aware that he’s been away for the past week (seemingly how long he’s been awake for), he knows that’s just how he is, that’s the man who married him.

He presses up against his back, and wraps an arm around his waist. He tucks his face into the crook of Tony’s neck after kissing him there and breathes him in. He missed him. He lets the steady ostinato of his heartbeat and the constant, even in-out of his breathing lulling him to sleep.

-

“You weren’t here last night,” Tony mumbles when he wakes up in Steve’s arms to him pressing light kisses along his neck. It’s a nice way to wake up, right up there in his top 3. He turns to face him and all his sleep-mussed, gorgeous splendour.

“I’m magic,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with disuse, smiling at him.

Tony doesn’t remember much of last night (he’s at the stage of his life where, after a certain amount, sleep deprivation acts startling similar to alcohol) but it dripping back to him.

“You’re a rat bastard,” Tony accuses, he would point a finger, but he has a very limited range of motion in Steve’s arms and he quite likes it.

“And a bastard soulmate, and sexually abstinent,” Steve adds distractedly as he shifts his whole body a little, just enough to bring attention to every place where they were touching, which seemed to be everywhere, and runs his hands up and down Tony’s back.

“Yep,” Tony agrees sagely, fighting off the same easy grin that graces Steve’s face. Based on the twinkle of his eyes, Tony doubts he did a very good job.

“Your rat bastard,” Steve hums, stating a fact, a universal constant, and god, Tony’s so damn lucky to call the man in front of him _his_, he hardly knows what to do with himself half the time. He’s so in love with him, if you broke him apart, if you tore him down to his bare essentials, he knows that his atoms would be made up of pure love and adoration for the man lying next to him in his bed.

“Yeah, mine,” Tony agrees softly, saying in two syllables what he’s been thinking. Steve’s returning smile is enough for him to know that it’s reciprocated.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! any comments/kudos are greatly appreciated <33
> 
> [tumblr post of this fic](https://ineffablestarkrogers.tumblr.com/post/186844524026/rat-soulmate-sexually-abstinent-bastard) \- reblogging this is the best way of showing your support :D


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